


Down the Sidewalk

by dragonQuill907



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bullying, F/M, First Kiss, Friendship, Non-Graphic Violence, Sherlolly - Freeform, Teenlock, tw: bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonQuill907/pseuds/dragonQuill907
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper go to the same school. They live in the same town, on the same street. They've never talked before. They've never even met. But that's all about to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes was not like other sixteen-year-old boys.

“Freak.”

Sherlock Holmes was a genius. He could tell everything about a person with one look, and he’d been moved up a grade to keep his mind from imploding from boredom. It was so busy, his mind, full of all sorts of useful things. Things like ink stains and shirt creases and what they might mean, nothing dull or unimportant like the solar system. Yes, Sherlock’s head was a busy place, thoughts swirling around like ingredients in a big pot of stew. He was in the process of sorting it all out, creating a building-like mechanism to organize the knowledge currently running free.

“Loser.”

Sherlock Holmes did not have many friends. His only friend was John Watson, a rather intelligent seventeen-year-old who had the same chemistry and math classes as Sherlock. John didn’t bore Sherlock half to death like the other students. John found Sherlock interesting, the things he could do extraordinary. He was short but strong, and wanted to become a doctor. He had sandy blonde hair and dark blue eyes, and he never told Sherlock off for saying something he shouldn’t have. Instead, he calmly explained that, yes, if you tell Sally Donovan that her boyfriend -- that Anderson kid -- is cheating on her with her best friend, she will punch you in the face.

“Tosser.”

When John was with him, nobody bothered Sherlock. That was because John was on the rugby team and could probably snap most of the boys in their grade in two. That was another thing about John -- he was on the rugby team but didn’t act like it. He was actually a kind boy, and most people liked him. Why he’d choose to spend time with Sherlock baffled the younger boy completely.

“Nobody likes you.”

When John wasn’t with him, more than a few of the boys didn’t hesitate to pinch or punch or kick Sherlock around. They even seemed like they were enjoying Sherlock’s pain. They trailed after him, called him names. Freak, weirdo, virgin. Sherlock had heard them all, although he failed to see how his sexual history -- or lack thereof -- would be offensive.

"You're disgusting."

It was Friday, and Sherlock was on his way home from school. He was lucky he only lived a ten minute walk away. He didn't have to wait around for parents or an older sibling to pick him up. He gathered his things at the end of the day and left, never staying long enough to even bid John goodbye.

"Are you a blushing virgin, Holmes?"

Sherlock had debated asking John for a ride home more than once, but the blonde boy had rugby practice that started right after school every day. He'd even wondered if John would walk home with him if he asked. Sherlock wasn't sure that the most ruthless of the boys, Jim Moriarty -- who came up with most of the verbal stings and was almost as smart as Sherlock but much better at hiding it -- or Sebastian Moran,  Jim's Neanderthal lackey, would back off simply at the sight of John. Sherlock didn't want to make John defend him, anyway. He didn't need defending.

"Just kill yourself."

No, Sherlock Holmes was not like other sixteen-year-old boys.

Molly Hooper was not like other sixteen-year-old girls.

"Do you really need that biscuit?"

Molly’s friends were all convinced that they weren’t thin enough. They were all obsessed with being unhealthily skinny, while Molly was fine with being the average height and weight for her age, and she was. Molly would know about these things. She had a fascination with the human body that her friends didn’t understand.

“Why are you so morbid?”

Molly liked anatomy. She could name every organ in the human body. She knew where they were and what they did. She even knew what they looked like. Molly was intrigued by everything in the human body and how everything could go wrong. She wanted to know how they failed and why and how to fix it.

“Mousy Hooper.”

Molly was a timid girl. She wasn’t as flirty as Jeanette or as funny as Janine. The only one she really got along with was Sarah, who wanted to be a doctor and was dating an older boy named John Watson. Molly had met him at a party once, when her friends had dragged her there. Molly didn’t really like parties. They were too crowded and too loud.

“You’re so innocent.”

Molly had never had a boyfriend. It didn’t bother her much, but her friends took it as a personal offense. Molly wanted to focus on her studies. Her friends just wanted her to get a date. Molly rolled her eyes every time they suggested setting her up. Most boys either didn’t notice her or thought she was a bit weird. Her father said they were just intimidated by her intelligence, but Molly didn’t agree.

“You should talk more.”

Molly didn’t feel like she had much to say. She hated those girls who talked and talked about nothing important but couldn’t form a single intelligent thought in their heads. Molly could handle one-on-one conversations. She liked those. They usually meant something. When there were more than two other people, as it often was, she was content to simply sit and listen. Everything she liked to talk about, they despised, and Molly knew they wouldn’t have the patience to listen anyway. She grew into the habit of carrying a book with her so she would have something to do in such a situation.

“No one cares, Molly.”

No, Molly Hooper was not like other sixteen-year-old girls.

It seems only fitting that their lives would collide, for better or for worse.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ll see you in chemistry tomorrow, Sherlock,” John said, gathering his books.

Sherlock hummed in reply, already halfway out the door. He spent a grand total of six and a half minutes at his locker -- nearly twice as long as usual -- before bolting out of the school and down his usual route to get home. Only a small number of kids walked this way, and most only for a few minutes until they branched off and went down their separate paths.

Today, Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran were waiting for him.

“Hey, Freak,” Jim called, a cheeky grin decorating his face. “You on your way home?”

“That’s not my name.”

“Isn’t it? It’s what you are. A freak.”

Sherlock walked past them, keeping his eyes ahead of him. Sebastian grabbed his arm and wrenched him back. Sherlock knew those extra two and a half minutes would come back to bite him.

“I asked you a question, Freak. How rude of you not to answer.”

"What answer do you want?"

Jim rolled his eyes. He nodded at Sebastian, who knocked Sherlock's books out of his hands.

"You're so boring, Freak. So very ordinary."

Sherlock knelt to pick up his things, and the two boys walked away, laughing to themselves at what a pathetic mess he was. His mother would be annoyed at the state of his uniform trousers after this, Sherlock thought absently. He heard small footsteps behind him and sighed. One thing he didn't want right now was an audience.

"Are you okay?"

"I- what?" He turned to face a doe-eyed girl with long brown hair.

"Are you okay?" she repeated. Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away, kneeling down to put some of Sherlock's English papers in the wrong folder.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and took the folder from her. "I'm fine."

"Good, um," she stammered. "Don't listen to them. You're not a freak."

"How would you know? Maybe I am. Perhaps I dissect human beings and paint my walls with their organs?"

"Do you?"

He frowned. "I might be a psychopath."

"Are you?"

Sherlock swallowed. "No."

"Then I believe you."

"Why should you?"

The girl blushed furiously. "I know you don't know me, but you should listen to me, not them. You're not a freak."

"No, I don't know you. But you know me."

"No," the girl admitted, "but neither do they. I mean, I’ve heard of you before. But still. So... which one of us are you going to believe?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth and shoved his disorganized binder into his already heavy messenger bag. He rose to his feet and brushed off his uniform. The girl stood and did the same to her skirt. Sherlock slung his bag over his shoulder and started walking, away from school, away from the girl, away from Jim Moriarty.

"I'm Molly Hooper."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're sixteen. You either don't have friends or hate the ones you do have. Your mother passed away three, no, four years ago; you moved here around that time. You've never had a boyfriend or a close relationship of any kind with a male other than your father. Your favorite color is pink -- how trite."

The girl swallowed, her face red. "So, it's true, what they said. You just... know about people."

Sherlock didn't reply. The girl would be leaving soon anyway, probably repelled by his deductions. Sometimes, Sherlock thought, it was convenient having a way to drive others away.

"That's amazing," Molly said. "You knew everything. How did you do that?"

Sherlock blinked. "It's what?"

"It's amazing. How did you know about all of that?" she questioned. "No one could've told you. How did know?"

"I haven't seen you in any of my classes, but you look to be around my age, so sixteen. It's barely fifteen minutes since school's been released; anyone with friends would still be there talking. So you either don't have any or prefer to avoid them when possible-”

“I just don’t like talking. They don’t listen to me anyway.”

“Yes, well, I’m still right. Your skirt is sloppily hemmed, obviously second-hand. I assume you did it yourself. Your books are dog-eared and drawn on. Again, second-hand. Your jewelry is either plastic or string, hand-made, except for your necklace. That's diamond, isn’t it? You don't have a lot of money, possibly due to only one income. You had a summer job to make up for it, I think, although that's just a guess. This suggests only one parent. You smell faintly of cologne, although you put perfume on to cover it up. Your father gets his scent on you when he hugs you before school each morning. Therefore, it's your mother that has died, not your father. Of course, your mother could be alive, but why would she give that necklace to you if she wasn't dying? Its obviously hers; it's a diamond-studded 'L,' and your name is Molly.”

Sherlock glanced at the girl, who was now staring at him, astonished. That happened often enough. The next stage would be anger, then simmering disgust that eventually boiled down to hatred. He swallowed and kept his eyes ahead of him.

“How do you know that I moved here afterwards? I could’ve lived here my whole life.”

“You know your way around, but you lack the confidence of the local teenagers.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. And I guess my favorite color is fairly obvious,” Molly said, gesturing to her pink headband and earrings. “But what about the boyfriend thing? There’s no way somebody didn’t tell you that. There’s no way you could’ve just picked up on it.”

“You were uncomfortable with the number of males in the group, so you didn’t say something sooner. Not that I’m complaining; you don’t even need to be here now,” Sherlock said. “As soon as they were gone, you came up to me. You are more at ease at the moment because there is only one male, me, and one female, you. If it were, say, three males -- Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran, and I -- and one female -- again, you -- I predict it would be much different.”

“You’re…”

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. There it was. You’re horrible. You’re a freak. You’re crazy. Stay away from me.

“You’re brilliant!” Molly exclaimed, smiling softly. “That was amazing, truly amazing.”

Sherlock blinked. “Ama- what?”

“You are a genius! Not that I doubted your intelligence, just… it was a little hard to believe without seeing it. I’ve heard stories, but they were just a little incredible.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow. The girl spoke as if he was some kind of legend. She wasn’t repelled by his deductions; she was fascinated. Sherlock decided to  do something he rarely did, and he gave Molly Hooper the benefit of the doubt.

“Did you really tell off Anderson for cheating on Sally? She was livid when she told Jeanette about it!” Molly cried. “Oh, she’s much happier without him, but she’s still furious with you. She was telling us all what a tosser you were. Not that I believed her, mind you.”

“Hm. Sounds like Sally.”

“When she said you were a- Well, she calls you the Freak, like, a title, but I didn’t- I mean, I told her it wasn’t right-”

“You don’t have to justify yourself, Molly. It’s fine if you’ve said it before. Almost everyone has.”

“But it’s not!” Molly grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop.

“What?” Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not fine.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter! They shouldn’t call you names. And it shouldn’t be okay to call you names. It shouldn’t be the normal thing to do.”

“Molly.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be!”

“Where do you live? You must have missed your corner. I’m sure of it.”

“I live up the road a few blocks and to the left.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Most of the students who lived in this direction branched off after only a few blocks. It was just his luck to get stuck with the girl who lived as close to him as possible. Sherlock shrugged out of her grip and kept walking. Molly followed quietly until he began to suspect she was trying to follow him home. The two reached Sherlock’s street, and he turned to say goodbye when she spoke up.

“This is my stop,” Molly said, smiling. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Perhaps.”

Molly grinned again and turned left. Sherlock’s mouth quirked, and he turned right.

 


	3. Chapter 3

As Sherlock rounded the corner the next morning, he saw Molly Hooper sitting in the passenger seat of her father’s car, talking animatedly with him. Sherlock almost smiled before he caught himself.

The first bell rang the moment after Sherlock threw himself into the chair next to John. The blonde boy grinned and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

“Mate,” John said, completely ignoring the chemistry teacher, “Sarah invited me to a party at her friend Jeanette’s this weekend. You should come.”

“No.”

“Come on, Sherlock.”

“Parties aren’t my area, John. It won’t end well, I can tell you that now.”

“It’ll be fine,” John said. “I’ll be there.”

“Yeah, and your girlfriend. You’ll be snogging the whole time.”

“We will not. I promise. Come to the party, Sherlock.”

“Fine.”

Eight class periods later, Sherlock was stuffing his books in his bags and bolting out of the school. He ducked his head and started the long walk home.

“Sherlock!” a girl’s voice called. “Sherlock Holmes!”

Molly Hooper was running towards him, her hair trailing behind her.

“Ah, Molly. How nice to see you.”

“Really?” she asked, her smile growing wider.

Sherlock shrugged. Molly’s grin wavered.

“Right,” she said. “Um, so, how was your day? No one bothered you, did they?”

“Are you seriously checking up on me?”

“Well, I just... was wondering. Did they?”

“No more than usual,” Sherlock replied. “You don’t need to be doing this. I don’t need your pity.”

“I don’t pity you.”

“Then what is this, then?”

“I- I want to be your friend. I don’t think you have enough.”

“This still sounds like pity.”

“It’s not just for your benefit,” Molly admitted, blushing. “I think you’re interesting. I would like to be your friend because- well, my other friends… They aren’t really- They don’t really care.”

“Are you saying I do?”

Molly swallowed. “No, they’re just worse. I doubt you’ll try to force me into skirts that are too short or curl my hair or smear makeup on my face.”

“Hm. You have a point. I couldn’t care less what you look like.”

“That’s reassuring,” Molly replied.

Sherlock frowned. “Is it?”

“Well, I didn’t mean it like that, but… yes, a little bit. That’s all people do, care about how they look.”

“People are idiots.”

Molly smiled. “I told my friends about you, you know.”

Sherlock stiffened. “Oh? And what did you say? You met the freak on the walk home, and he was just as odd as everyone says he is.”

“No!” Molly squeaked. “Not at all. I said that you weren’t a freak. That you’re quite clever, and more people should listen to you.”

Sherlock relaxed. “Oh.”

The girl frowned. “I told you yesterday that I wouldn’t call you that.”

“Yes, well…”

Molly nodded. “I know. So... what do you want to do? Like, as a job?”

“I’m going to be a consulting detective.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“Of course you haven’t. I invented the job. When the police are out of their depth, they will come to me.”

“So you’ll solve crimes?”

“Oh, not the boring ones.”

Molly bit her lip. “I want to be a pathologist.”

“Boring. No! Fascinating. That could be quite useful.”

“That’s why my friends say I’m morbid.”

“Well, you would be surrounded by corpses all day. However,” Sherlock chuckled, “they’re much less irritating than the living.”

“What if you work a murder case? You’ll need my help, won’t you?”

“Possibly. And you’ll let me use spare body parts for experiments?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” Sherlock scoffed.

“Well, for starters, if that’s even allowed.”

“Come on, Molly, you know you’d give them to me anyway.”

Molly smiled.

They reached their corner and parted ways, both of them grinning to themselves.

Sherlock did not have an umbrella when it started to rain. It began as a light drizzle, but soon escalated into a heavy downpour. He balked when a car pulled up next to him.

Molly flung the door open and yelled, “You need a ride?”

Sherlock sighed in relief. “That would be preferable, yes.” Molly moved over a seat, and Sherlock climbed into the car. “This is very kind of you, Mr. Hooper.”

“Oh, it’s nothing…”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Molly supplied.

“Oh, you’re the genius, eh?” Mr. Hooper laughed. “Molly’s told me about you.”

“Dad,” Molly hissed.

Sherlock felt his ears burn. “Yes, that’s me.”

“How old are you, Sherlock?”

“Dad!”

“Sixteen.”

“And you’re in some of Molly’s classes?”

“Oh, my God, stop.”

“No, I was moved up a year.”

“You’re pretty clever, then, aren’t you?”

“Dad, stop asking questions.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Oh, look! We’re at school. Thanks for the ride, Dad. I’ll see you  later.”

“Have a good day, sweetheart. You as well, Sherlock. If you ever need a ride to school, I’m more than happy to pick you up.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Mr. Hooper.”

“Okay. Goodbye, Dad. Bye.”

Molly turned to Sherlock, her cheeks painted a flattering pink. Sherlock swallowed.

“I’m sorry about my dad,” Molly said.

“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” asked Sherlockat the same time.  


“Wait, what? Of course I- don’t be ridiculous. Come on.”

“You’ll be teased for talking to the Freak.”

“I don’t care. Let’s go.”

“Molly, listen. Please,” Sherlock said, looking away from her. “I don’t want you to be targeted because of me.”

“You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

Sherlock smirked.

“What’s got you in such a mood, mate?” John asked, grinning. “You’re not even correcting the teacher.”

“What? Nothing, John.”

“You’re blushing!”

Sherlock felt the tips of his ears burn brighter. “No, I- I’m doing no such thing.”

“Oh, hell, you are!”

“John, go shouting it from the rooftops, why don’t you?” Sherlock huffed. “Keep it down.”

“Okay, sure, if you tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just thinking.”

“About what ?” John questioned. He raised an eyebrow. “Or about who?”

“Whom.”

“So it is someone!”

“John, shh!”

“All right, then. Do you fancy someone?”

“No!” Sherlock blurted. “I mean, no. Of course not, John.”

John just smiled and opened his textbook. Sherlock frowned and did the same, his thoughts wandering back to Molly Hooper.

Sherlock and Molly walked home together the rest of the week.  They talked about school, they talked about home, and sometimes they didn’t talk at all. Sherlock found he enjoyed the day they spent walking in silence just as much as the days they had talked each other’s ears off.

On Friday, they lingered at what Sherlock began to call their corner. He found he was reluctant to end their conversation, although later he couldn’t even recall what they had been talking about.

It wasn’t until Molly said, “See you Monday morning, Sherlock,” that he realized he wouldn’t even see her over the weekend.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you own any casual clothing?”

Sherlock looked down at his dark red button-up and frowned. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

John sighed as Sherlock shut the door. “Nothing, Sherlock. You ready?”

“Oh, of course, John. A party at Jeanette’s. How exciting.”

John rolled his eyes. “How’s it going with that girl of yours?”

Sherlock coughed. “She’s not mine, John.”

“Okay, okay. How’s that going?”

“Fine.”

The two of them drove in silence until John blurted, “Did you tell her yet?”

Sherlock sighed. “I do not fancy Molly.”

“Right, sorry.”

John parked the car a block away from Jeanette’s house. Sherlock could hear the music from three houses away. Shouts of praise rang out as the song drew to a close, and Sherlock winced. John laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and led him into the house.

“Jeanette’s brother plays drums,” John explained.

“Wonderful.”

“Come on, Sherlock, at least try to enjoy yourself.”

“Of course, John.”

A girl with short brown hair popped up next to John. She gripped his arm and kissed him on the cheek.

“John!” she squealed. “Thanks for coming. I’ve been wanting to show you off for weeks.” Her gaze drifted to Sherlock, who was standing behind John awkwardly, playing with his hands. “Oh, Sherlock. Hi.”

“Hello, Sarah. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Uh, and you. Come on, John, I want you to meet Jeanette! She’s been _dying_ to meet you, you know.”

Sherlock blinked, and Sarah dragged John somewhere in the crowd of people compacted by the makeshift stage. Sherlock frowned and scanned the faces, looking for anyone he might recognize.

“Bloody hell,” someone cursed. “Who invited the Freak?”

Sherlock turned to face Molly Hooper, her honey-brown hair in a side ponytail. Sherlock swallowed as Sally Donovan pushed past her, glaring right at him.

“Why are you here? I find it hard to believe you have friends, Freak.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “How are you getting on without Anderson, Sally? Much better, I’d assume.”

“Shut up,” she spat. “Why don’t you just leave? It’s creepy to be here alone, just watching all the normal people. Is that what you do for fun?”

“Sally, that’s enough,” Molly said, frowning. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Did you hear what he said to me?”

“Sally, we ask you that all the time. And you are doing better without Anderson, remember?” Molly assured, patting Sally’s arm.

“Oh, I see whose side you’re on. You don’t even know him.”

“Sherlock’s my friend. Leave him alone, Sally. Go bother someone else.”

Sally huffed and stalked away. Molly turned to him and grinned. Sherlock swallowed. He’d never seen her in clothes that weren’t their school uniform. Molly wore a pale pink sweater and black skinny jeans. Her eyelashes were longer, her fingernails were painted dark purple, and she smelled like vanilla.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” she exclaimed. “I’m glad I let Janine guilt-trip me into showing up. Now I’ll have someone interesting to talk to. Sherlock?”

“What? Yes, sorry. I, uh. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Molly shrugged. “Well, we can’t have fun if she keeps pestering us.”

Sherlock smiled. “Right.”

“Molly!” a girl yelled. She had dark, curly hair and a large smile plastered on her face. She draped a hand over Molly’s shoulder. “Who’s your boyfriend? He’s awful fit, isn’t he?”

“Janine!” Molly cried. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, well, that’s better for me.” Janine looked at Sherlock and winked. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

The girl wrinkled her nose and thought for a moment, as if trying to place him in her memory. She nodded then, giving a dramatic sigh.

“Such a pity. If only you weren’t…”

“I know,” Sherlock answered, glancing at his shoes.

“Janine, don’t be rude.”

“Come on, Molls, I didn’t mean it like that!” Janine laughed. Her eyes widened comically as she stared at something over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Oh, my God, here come Jim and Sebastian. How do I look? Good?”

“You look fine, Janine.”

“Jim is really something, isn’t he? And Sebastian? Whew. I bet he’s a lot sweeter than he looks. All those tough-guy types are. Like Sarah’s boyfriend.”

“He’s not,” Sherlock said. “He and John are nothing alike.”

“Oh, what would you know?” Janine said, smiling. “Do you know him personally? Can you get his number for me?”

“Sorry, I- I can’t help you.”

“Okay, Janine, I think that’s enough now.”

“But they’re coming this way, Molls. Oh, my God, Jim is looking right at you!”

Sherlock’s stomach plummeted. He saw Molly’s nose wrinkle, and he felt it do a somersault. He cursed his body silently.

“Hey, Molly,” Jim Moriarty greeted, sidling up to the girls. He stood in front of Sherlock easily, like he hadn’t known the taller boy was there. “You want to dance?”

Molly glanced up at Sherlock, who was pointedly looking away. Jim saw this and turned, frowning.

“Is he bothering you, Molls?” he questioned, glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock would move to China to escape that gaze. “Hey, Freak. Why don’t you get out of here?”

“I don’t dance,” Molly said coldly. “Not with guys like you. And Sherlock Holmes is my friend.” She grabbed Sherlock by the elbow and led him back into the house. He could feel Jim’s eyes follow him until the door slammed shut.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Shut up.”

There were considerably less people in the house than outside, and Sherlock sighed in relief. Molly dragged him over to the couch and sat down, pulling him down with her. He sat rigidly, his hands folded in his lap.

This was the first time they’d done anything together other than walk or drive to and from school. Sherlock remained silent. This was different, wasn’t it? Was he supposed to talk to her like he did during the week? That was probably why Molly had brought him inside, so they could talk.

Sherlock smiled weakly at Molly, who frowned in concern.

“I’m sorry about Janine. She’s… yeah.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock replied. His palms were sweaty. He hated it. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“It bothers me,” Molly replied. “You’re not a freak, you’re brilliant. More people should learn to see it. They’re missing out.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course, but it’s nice to see people’s faces when I tell them you’re my friend,” said Molly. “They’re surprised. A little impressed.”

“Are we friends?”

Molly’s face fell. “Oh, well, I thought we- since we walk home… Never mind. It was foolish of me to assume.”

“Molly, I-”

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry,” she stammered, standing. She blushed and chuckled self-deprecatingly.  “You probably came here with someone else, right? You should, um, go catch up to her. She might wonder where you’ve wandered off to.”

Sherlock stood too. He looked down at her and furrowed his brow. “Molly, stop. I just didn't realize.”

“You know everything.”

“Well, not many people want to be around me,” replied Sherlock. “Also, if you’re implying I have a girlfriend, I do not. John gave me a ride here, but he ran off with Sarah almost as soon as we walked in.”

“Wait, Sarah’s boyfriend, John Watson?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. He closed his eyes. “Sarah is one of your friends, isn’t she?”

Molly nodded. “So you’re friends with John, then? He’s very nice to me. I don’t know about him and Sarah, though. Sarah tells us it’s just fun for the two of them. What does John say?”

“About- about their relationship?” Sherlock questioned. “He says it’s not my business, and whatever I want to know I could deduce easily anyway. He’s right, of course.”

“So it’s just fun between them, then. Is John really serious about it?”

“Hardly,” Sherlock scoffed. “He wants it to last, but they’re both more comfortable remaining friends. I give it until the end of the month.”

“Oh, but they’ve been together for a while now. Maybe they’ll stick it out.”

Sherlock shrugged even though he knew he was right.

“I’m sorry about Jim, too.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, Molly.”

“I know. Let’s go grab something to drink,” she suggested. “It’s a bit awkward standing here doing nothing.”

Sherlock nodded and followed her into the kitchen. He took a bottle of water while Molly poured herself a glass of something red and sweet-smelling.

“Cherry punch,” she explained, smiling. “You should try some. It’s my favorite.”

She took a sip, and it left her mouth a dark shade of pink. Sherlock wondered what it would taste like on her lips.

_Where did_ that _come from?_ he thought. _It’s new._

“Perhaps later,” he forced himself to say.

As the night progressed, more and more groups of kids came indoors. Most were couples looking for a semi-private place to snog. Sherlock didn’t want to think about it.

The two boys next to them were so involved with each other that they didn’t seem to notice when they pushed Molly practically into Sherlock’s lap. Her face burned red and she stammered a hasty apology.

“Maybe we should go outside,” Molly suggested.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, “that might be a good idea.”

Molly struggled to her feet and led Sherlock out the back door. The band had stopped playing, and music was playing loudly on the speakers.

“I hate pop music,” Molly said, sitting on the porch steps.

“I play the violin,” Sherlock replied.

“Really? Why haven’t you told me before?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It wasn’t relevant.”

“I’d love to hear you play some time,” she said. “Well, only if you’re better than this rubbish.”

“Infinitely, I promise you.”

“Good.”

They both sat in silence, staring out into the sky. Sherlock stretched his legs out and leaned back.

“You can go talk to your friends, you know.”

“I told you, they don’t care. And I am talking to my friend.”

“They haven’t said anything about us being… friends, have they?”

“No, they just wanted to know what you were like.”

“And what did you tell them?”

Molly blushed. “Well, that you-”

“Sherlock! I’ve been looking for you for ages,” John exclaimed, sitting next to him. “Thought you’d gotten bored and run off.”

“No, I’m here, as you can see.”

John rolled his eyes and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder, grinning. “Molly Hooper! You didn’t say your friend was Molly Hooper!”

“Is there more than one Molly?” Sherlock asked absently.

“Hi, John,” Molly greeted, smiling. “How are you?”

“Pretty good, although I don’t know where Sarah’s got off to. How’re you, Molls?”

“This music is hurting my ears.”

John laughed. “Yeah, it’s bad. You know Sherlock plays the violin?”

“He just told me. He said he’d play for me.”

“Lucky girl,” John teased. “Sherlock doesn’t play for just anyone. He must really like you.”

“If you’re going to talk about me, do it behind my back where I can’t hear you.”

“We are,” John replied simply. “Molly, did you know that Sherlock has six toes on his left foot?”

“I do not!” Sherlock protested. “You’re making things up.”

“Does he really?” Molly giggled.

“Nah,” John laughed. “It’s just fun to mess with him.”

“I’m glad you two are amused,” Sherlock muttered.

“I’m only teasing,” John chuckled. “We have to go. I promised my mum I’d be home by midnight.”

“Is it that late?” Sherlock asked.

“Half past eleven,” John answered.

“Oh, my God!” Molly yelped. “I was supposed to be home half an hour ago. My dad’s going to be furious.”

“Let me give you a ride,” John offered.

“Thank you so much,” Molly gushed.

Sherlock and Molly sat in the backseat of John’s small car, talking about nothing in particular. Sherlock found it hard not to take Molly’s hand, which was resting about halfway between them. He kept his own folded in his lap. He was not going to ruin his second friendship by allowing petty urges to get in the way.

When they pulled up to Molly’s house, Sherlock didn’t bother moving to the front seat. They’d be at his house in two minutes anyway. Molly hugged him quickly and squeezed John’s shoulder.

“Thanks, John. I’ll see you on Monday morning, Sherlock.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Molly slammed the car door shut.

“I think she likes you, mate.”

“Shut up.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Did you get in trouble for being out past curfew?” Sherlock asked after Mr. Hooper had driven off.

“Yeah, but not a lot. He just confiscated my mobile phone for the rest of the weekend. But I have it back now.”

“Oh, that’s... good.”

“Yeah. He was pretty mad, but I told him you and John gave me a ride, and he calmed down. He likes you.”

“That’s… good?”

Molly chuckled. “Yeah. I have to get to Mrs. Hudson’s room before my first period class to make up a test. See you after school.”

“Goodbye, Molly. Have a good day.”

Molly beamed. “Thanks, Sherlock! You too.”

“You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?” John whispered in the middle of chemistry.

“What? Did I miss something?” Sherlock asked, scanning his notes. He hadn’t been paying attention to the teacher, just writing down things that popped into his mind.

“‘If Doctor Stamford didn’t want people to know about his recent spat with Mrs. Stamford,” John read quietly, “he should have at least made an effort to iron his shirt sleeves correctly.’ That, okay, _that_ is normal. But I also see: ‘Must practice violin today - song for Molly?’ and ‘Molly has a mobile. Could I get her number? I probably could.’ I mean, you go off on tangents here and there, but it all comes back to Molly Hooper.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.”

“You should just tell her. I’m fairly sure she feels the same way.”

“It’s not that simple, John.”

“It never is, is it?”

Sherlock shook his head and went back to ignoring the teacher. John didn’t understand. It was bad enough that Molly had to endure the odd looks she undoubtedly got when she told others about their friendship. If they were to engage in a romantic relationship, would the odd looks evolve into muttered insults or barely-contained laughter? Sherlock couldn’t subject Molly to that. As much as the sensation was unfamiliar to him, he cared for her too much.

If Molly was put through anything half as bad as what was forced upon Sherlock, he didn’t think he would ever forgive himself.

“What happened today?” Molly asked, smiling. Her arms were laden with books, their weight nearly toppling her over.

“Nothing of any interest,” Sherlock replied. “And you?”

“I got a B on my history test.”

“That’s good, right?”

“No! I studied all week for that. I completely blanked on four questions, I think.”

“Oh. Do you, er, want me to carry those?”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s only the three of them,” Molly replied absently. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Are you wearing lip gloss?" Sherlock questioned. He looked quizzically at Molly’s lips and blushed before tearing his gaze away. "You weren't this morning.”

“I, uh. Janine bought some for me. She said I needed to- well. I knew it looked stupid; I should've taken it off.”

“No," Sherlock said, nearly choking on the word. “No, you- it looks fine.”

It looked more than fine, Sherlock decided. Molly's normally bare lips shone pink in the sunlight, and Sherlock swore he could see what looked like glitter. He cleared his throat, feeling the tips of his ears burn.

“Why did Janine think you needed it? You’re pretty enough without it.”

“Oh, um, th-thanks, Sherlock.”

He swallowed. “It’s just a fact. So, why did Janine think you needed it?”

“Another attempt to make me more attractive to… potential dates.”

“She thinks you don’t have a boyfriend because you’re not pretty enough.” Sherlock frowned. “That’s not right…”

“You’ve got a point,” Molly replied, smiling. “It’s more because I’m too quiet. And morbid, but that’s just-”

“That’s your friends’ opinion. Don’t listen to them. They’re idiots. People say worse about me.”

“But those things aren’t true. You’re not a freak. I really am-”

“You’re really what?”

“Morbid, Sherlock. I’m really morbid. I want to be a pathologist. What normal girl wants to cut up dead bodies for a living?”

_“Normal,”_ Sherlock spat. “Normal is boring.”

Molly smiled. “Completely dull.”

“I’m glad you agree. Although, it would be foolish if you didn’t, as I am always right.”

“Always?”

“I might be slightly off every now and then, but the majority of the time, I’m correct in my observations.”

“I know.”

Sherlock smiled down at the timid girl and wondered how someone like her had thought to comfort him. Molly sighed.

“I know you didn’t tell me the truth earlier,” she said. “Something happened today.”

“No, I’d remember.”

“Sherlock,” the girl said sternly, “you don’t have to tell me what happened, but you can’t just lie about it.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“I can see it,” Molly protested. “What happened?”

“Jim and Sebastian happened, as always.”

“What did they say to you this time?”

Sherlock didn’t reply. He kept walking, keeping his eyes on his feet.

“Whatever it was, it’s not true. Don’t listen to them.”

“Molly, you don’t-”

“I don’t what?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied, closing his eyes briefly. “I don’t need your pity.”

“We’ve gone over this,” Molly said. “I don’t pity you.”

Sherlock said nothing. Molly didn’t push any further, which made Sherlock nearly sigh in relief. He never wanted to revisit any of the ‘talks’ he’d had with the boys, but he would do anything to make sure Molly was never aware of the more horrible things they’d done to him.

They’d cornered him in the stairwell during lunch. Everyone else had been in the cafeteria, the one place in the school Sherlock hated more than anything. Before forcing him to his knees, Sebastian had wrenched his books out of his hands and thrown them down the stairs, papers flying everywhere. Jim had just laughed and grinned down at him. The shorter boy loomed over Sherlock and tutted.

“Hello, Sherlock. I haven’t seen you in so long! You’re always hanging around that Molly Hooper,” he complained. “Don’t you think she’s too good for you?”

Sherlock knew she was, and he knew Jim was aware of it, too. So he didn’t answer, hoping that they would grow bored and leave him alone for once.

“Sure, you’re smarter than she is by far, but she’s normal. Do you really want to infect her with whatever it is you’ve got?”

“Molly is exceptionally intelligent,” Sherlock protested.

“Look how you care about Molly Hooper. How cute," he spat.

Sherlock clenched his jaw. He could feel the tips of his ears turning bright red.

"I think it would be in both of your best interests if you were to leave Molly Hooper alone."

"Oh, right, because you fancy her," Sherlock ground out. "How cute."

Jim laughed coldly and waved his hand. Sebastian grabbed Sherlock's hair, pulled him halfway up, and threw him to the ground. Sherlock gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He put his hands in front of his face to block his fall, and his palms stung as they scraped the smooth tile.

It had taken Sherlock the rest of the period to pick up all of his papers, and he still couldn't find his English homework. It was due next period. He heard them chortling in the back when Ms. Riley, who already had a strange animosity towards him, demanded to know where his chart on the themes in Macbeth had disappeared to. He'd answered honestly, telling her that he didn't know, and that had only made them laugh harder. Ms. Riley had been furious, and she'd nearly given Sherlock a detention. He was just lucky she-

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked. They were at their corner, and Molly was looking up at him, concern in her doe-brown eyes. Sherlock smiled placatingly.

"Oh, was I doing it again?"

“Yeah. Are you all right?”

“Just thinking, Molly.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?”

“Yes. Oh, and, um, you should just call if you need help with history,” Sherlock said, struggling to calm his racing heartbeat. He ripped a piece of paper out of his notebook and hastily scribbled down his number. “Or- or not. You don’t have to. I just thought-”

“No,” Molly said. “I mean, of course, yeah. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks so much.”

Sherlock felt a weight lift off his chest. “Okay. Yes, good. Until tomorrow, Molly.”

“Goodbye, Sherlock.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock's stomach flipped. He'd only been in the cafeteria the few times John had dragged him there. He never would’ve dreamed of going in by himself. There wasn’t any reason to. He could steal off to the library or the lab during his lunch period, and no one would notice.

Sherlock stood in line with his tray like the rest of the imbeciles that inhabited his school. About half of them ignored him, but the others glared at him obviously and made snide remarks to their friends. Sherlock gritted his teeth and kept moving.

Another reason Sherlock never went into the cafeteria was because the food was absolutely disgusting. He was a genius, and he couldn’t even tell what the school was serving. It looked like some sort of pasta mush with… were those peas? Whatever it was, it made Sherlock want to gag.

The only reason he was there was because Molly had invited him to sit with her. The problem with this was, however, that Sherlock couldn’t seem to find her in the sea of students. He took his tray and sat at an empty table near the doors, Three of the four tables around him were unoccupied. He thanked whatever deity had graced him and pulled out a book. Sherlock completely ignored the food, instead focusing on his English homework.

“You’re not going to eat that?”

“Molly. Hello,” Sherlock greeted, looking up at her. Her hair was in a low bun, and she had lip gloss on again. His heart stuttered, and he frowned at it. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Is everything all right?”

“Er, yes, but… what is this, Molly? It’s rancid.”

“Don’t you know? Never get the pasta,” she replied. “The sandwiches are much less horrifying.”

“Because I would know that.”

“I thought you knew everything,” Molly laughed, settling down across from him.

“I know everything important,” Sherlock replied, poking at his serving of green beans with great distaste. “It’s why I’m a genius. I don’t save room for the unimportant things. Where’s the value in that?”

“You’ve got a point.”

“Of course I do.”

Molly laughed again. Sherlock loved her laugh. Wait. What?

“Where are your friends?” Sherlock asked, shaking the thought out of his head. “Are they not joining us?”

“Er, no,” Molly said. “I didn’t really want them to…”

“Oh. Of course.”

Yes, of course. Molly didn’t want Sherlock near her actual friends. Who would? Sherlock would say something the wrong way, and the others would flee. Mostly, all it took from Sherlock was a look. Molly would lose either Sherlock or her other friends, and Sherlock wasn’t confident he knew whom she would choose.

“They’re loud and more than a bit irritating,” Molly remedied. “I don’t want them bothering us.”

“Oh. All right, then. I suppose that’s okay.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Molly giggled.

“Do you have history homework you need to go over?”

“That’d be great, yeah,” the girl replied. She dug a notebook out of her bag and opened to a page almost completely covered with words.

“Why is this space blank?”

“I don’t know the answer.”

“It’s really quite simple.”

“What did we tell you, Holmes?” Jim asked, grinning. “Stay away from Molly Hooper.”

“Sherlock!”

He kept walking. He’d hoped to leave well before Molly did, but it seemed as though the girl had learned to catch up with him.

“Sherlock Holmes!”

“ _Go away_ ,” he muttered through his teeth.

“I know you can hear me. Just wait a moment!”

Molly grabbed his arm, and he whirled around.

“Ah, Molly,” he said, making his voice as cold as he could manage. “Hello.”

“Sherlock,” she breathed. “What happened to you?”

She reached her hand out to touch his left eye, which was black and swollen, but she thought better of it and let her arm fall to her side.

“What happened?”

“Molly, I believe we should discontinue our… partnership.”

She paused. “What?”

“I wish to terminate our association.”

“No. No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can. In fact, I just did.”

Molly clenched her jaw. “It has something to do with your eye, doesn’t it? It was Jim.”

“Molly.”

“I know it was; you can’t to lie to me.”

“It has merely come to my attention that you are a distraction, and our affiliation cannot be allowed to progress any further than it has.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you’re not lying, then? Who gave you that black eye?” Molly demanded. She spun around and started marching back to the school. Sherlock followed, certain she was going to do something stupid. “I think it was Jim Moriarty,” she seethed. “And I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Molly, don’t!” Sherlock pleaded. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Stop.”

“Shut it, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed and followed Molly back to the school, where she walked right up to Jim and Sebastian, who were surrounded by half their year.

“Okay, Molly, you’ve made your point. Let’s just go now.”

“Jim Moriarty,” Molly called, ignoring Sherlock, “I need to talk to you.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” Jim gushed, smiling sweetly at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you hurt Sherlock?” Molly demanded, crossing her arms and giving Jim the dirtiest look Sherlock had ever witnessed. It was almost comical, the small girl facing off against Neanderthal Sebastian and beanpole Jim Moriarty.

“I would never dream of laying a finger on him,” Jim replied, smirking. Sebastian grinned evilly behind him.

“Don’t play with me. Quit hurting Sherlock. Quit bothering him, quit calling him names, and _quit bullying him_.”

“Oh, how cute!” Jim laughed. “Does your girlfriend always fight your battles for you?”

“She's _not_ my girlfriend," Sherlock protested. There was no way _Jim Moriarty_ was outing him in front of Molly and half his year. "And she doesn't have to be here at all."

"Ouch," Jim hissed. "That sounds like a breakup to me. Pity. Sebastian thought Holmes here fancied you."

"Shut up," Molly said. "Stop it."

"Now, I bet he was in love with you."

"You're wrong," Sherlock said.

"I'm never wrong."

"Just quit bothering him," Molly snapped. Her face was bright red. "And quit bothering me."

“You should stop hanging around the freak, then,” Jim replied easily. “Come with me and Seb, and we’ll leave the freak behind us.”

Sherlock swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but he couldn’t leave Molly. His feet were glued to the ground and his eyes were fixed on the small girl defending him.

“He isn’t a freak; he’s brilliant. He’s smarter than you’ll ever be,” Molly said. “And I’d choose him over you any day.’

“Oh, do you fancy him as well? How adorable. Mr. and Mrs. Freak.”

“Don’t call her that,” Sherlock snapped. “She’s not like me; she’s normal.”

“Normal is boring,” Molly said, glancing back at him and giving him a small smile. His heart soared. He hated it.

“The freaks found each other,” Jim chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day. Looks like Holmes won’t die alone after all.”

“You’re rotten,” Molly declared. She yanked Sherlock away from the laughing group of kids.

“Molly, that was extremely stupid.”

“No, you’re stupid,” Molly retorted. “You thought you could lie to me and then just cut me off? Of course I’m going to know who hit you, Sherlock. I just don’t know why it involved me.”

“Jim wanted me to stay away from you. It was supposed to be for your benefit as well. I believe he has feelings for you.”

“Gross,” Molly shuddered.

“Molly, about what he said-”

“Oh, _please_ don’t worry about all that,” the girl rushed. “He was just trying to rile me up. He knows that I- well, I may have a tiny crush on you. But I know we’re friends, so I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to tell you.”

Sherlock stopped. Molly turned to face him. She bit her lip and furrowed her brow.

“Please don’t think any less of me,” she pleaded. “I was never going to tell you in the first place! I just don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed?”

“Well, I mean, I’m no one special, so…”

Sherlock shook his head, blinking. He took Molly’s free hand in his own. She fell silent almost immediately, staring down at their entwined fingers.

“Sherlock?”

“You’re extraordinary.” He placed a chaste kiss to the back of Molly’s hand and looked up at her uncertainly. The girl licked her lips and swallowed hard.

“Why me?” she whispered.

“Why would it be anyone else?”

Molly grinned and gave him a quick hug. She held Sherlock’s hand for the rest of the walk home. They stopped at their corner, their hands still linked. It seemed as though neither of them wanted to let the other go. After a few moments, however, Sherlock resigned himself to the fact that he would have to wait until the morning to see Molly again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Molly said hopefully.

“Of course. Tomorrow.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“You two are so cute together.”

Whenever she got the chance, Molly slipped her hand into Sherlock’s. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing; Molly wanted to be close to Sherlock. She wanted everyone to know he was hers. Sherlock always kissed her hands when she did this, and it made all her friends - single or otherwise - extremely jealous.

The kisses slowly progressed until, after school each day, Sherlock would plant a solid peck on her cheek. The first time he did, both he and Molly had flushed crimson, their grins matching. Now it was customary, and neither one would leave without it.

“I’m surprised at you, little brother.”

The first time Sherlock had kissed Molly - for real, not just on the cheek - he was a nervous wreck. He’d been thinking about it for days beforehand, mentally preparing himself. Every time Sherlock thought he could do it without royally messing up, another worry popped into his head. What if Molly didn’t want to kiss him at all? What if his breath smelled? What if he breathed in her face while his breath smelled?

But Sherlock Holmes did not waste time dwelling on what-ifs. So, he gathered what courage he had and pressed his lips gently but firmly to Molly’s. When he pulled away, he swallowed hard, afraid he would be rejected, but Molly only smiled, hugged him, and walked back to her house. He'd walked home feeling like he was walking on the clouds. Not even Mycroft could dull his mood.

"Here comes Mrs. Freak."

Molly didn't really mind her new nickname. It was actually kind of nice to be recognized as Sherlock Holmes' s girlfriend. She just hated that it was at his expense. She knew sherlock despised that he'd dragged her into the torment. Molly liked to think she dove in headfirst. She knew what she was getting herself into when she decided to fall in love with the most brilliant boy she'd ever met.

The names never happened that often, maybe once or twice times a week. Molly never told Sherlock; she didn't need to. He would look at her and say the same thing every time - "I knew it would happen." Molly would kiss him to shut him up, and Sherlock wouldn't bring it up again.

“She’s good for you.”

John pointed this out at the most unlikely of times. They were mixing caustic compounds in chemistry? Molly’s good for you, Sherlock. Right before their math test? She’s been really good for you, hasn’t she, Sherlock?

Sherlock wanted to scream that _yes_ , Molly was _perfect_ for him. She was interested in science, particularly biology, and loved to hear Sherlock play the violin. He could compose entire ballads about her - and he did, but none of them ever did her justice. He would play them anyway, and Molly would always be delighted to hear a new piece. Of course Molly was good for him. She was too good for him, but she stayed all the same.

“I wish my boyfriend would look at me like that.”

Molly had never been happier. Her friends had stopped pestering her about getting her a boyfriend and started asking her for dating advice. Molly tried to tell them that her and Sherlock’s relationship was anything but ordinary, but they still wanted details. Molly was happy to tell them, and they were happy to listen.

Sherlock was relatively collected most of the time, but when he was around Molly, his whole demeanor shifted. He was more relaxed, and he laughed. Molly adored Sherlock’s laugh, and she didn’t have to hide that anymore.  She loved a lot of things about him, really. She loved the way his eyes would crinkle as he grinned down at her; the calming sound of his voice after a day of screeching teachers and bickering students; the feel of his hand wrapped around hers. She just loved Sherlock Holmes.

“I love you.”

Sherlock had been astounded that Molly had said it first. He almost didn’t believe her when she did. Who could love Sherlock Holmes? He was rude, and he was blunt, and he didn’t think before speaking. He regularly reduced people to tears - although he was getting better at keeping his mouth shut.

Molly was so much greater than he was. She was beautiful and intelligent - not that Sherlock wasn’t extremely intelligent himself - and always patient with him.So, Sherlock might’ve been surprised, then, when Molly finally admitted it, but he knew without a doubt he felt the same way.

“I love you, too.”

No, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper were not like other sixteen-year-olds. But they always had each other, and that was all that really mattered anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes my first multi-chapter fic! I hope you all liked it. I had a lot of fun writing it. I'll do more multi-chapters in the future when I get some good ideas.


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